


Bend Over, I'll Drive

by millenial_falcon



Series: Road Songs [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deepthroating, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Power Play, Road Head, Semi-Public Sex, Stink Kink, low key kinks:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millenial_falcon/pseuds/millenial_falcon
Summary: Twenty-four hours ago they had been discretely sniffing around LumériCo’s newest installation, playing the part of road-trippers laying over in town for a couple of days. Now, McCree is driving to beat the devil, with Hanzo pressed warm and solid against his side.





	Bend Over, I'll Drive

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, I just wanted an excuse to use this title
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mr0JCWGB1Ng

The harsh susurrus of displaced air thwips close to his ear. Solid, heavy weight presses against his right side, metal just barely digging into the top of his thigh. There's a crack behind him that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck, a new bullet hole opening up in the windshield before him, and McCree's grip on the steering wheel tightens just that much more. Above him Hanzo chuckles, laughing under his breath that, “they cannot aim to save themselves.” as he nocks another arrow by McCree's side.

Twenty-four hours ago, give or take, they had been discretely sniffing around LumériCo’s newest installation just outside of Hermosillo, a pair of road-trippers laying over in the new boom town for a couple of days. Less than five hours ago the proximity sensors they'd planted around their hotel room drove them out of their bed with the threat of approaching hostiles, out a balcony window and into the nauseatingly familiar flanking patterns of a Talon strike team. Hanzo had provided him cover while McCree shimmied down the drain pipe, and the hail of bullets they escaped under was enough to keep his mind occupied away from memories of when he’d had the same tactics drilled into him.

Forty minutes ago, McCree had been on his back wedged under the dash of the Chevy pickup they spotted in a blind alley in Santa Ana, shorting out the autodrive controls and coaxing the engine to turn over as Hanzo dumped the bulk of their gear into the truck bed. The hatchback they'd been using had finally given up the ghost about five miles from the city limits, overheating after hemorrhaging coolant from a bullet riddled radiator down the Nogales Hyperlane. They'd walked the rest of it, but they were coming up on midday heat, and no manner of strange notion could nudge McCree towards convincing Hanzo that sheltering in Santa Ana was a smarter move than pressing on towards the safehouse in Tuscon.

There was no debate when McCree settled behind the wheel - Hanzo had already tersely admitted when they'd begun this bust of a mission that he was less than fully comfortable driving right-laned roads. When five Talon vehicles pulled out onto the hyperlane behind them as they cleared the city limits, when that stormcloud of gunfire caught up with them and Hanzo was hunkering down and putting his fist through the spiderweb cracks that burst across their rear window, turns out it was a damn good thing he was where he was. Truck or bike, McCree has been outrunning feds since his feet could reach the pedals, and right now he's driving to beat the devil.

In the closeness of the pickup cab he can hear the draw and release of each shot Hanzo takes, feel his measured breaths where he's braced against him. There's a squeal of tires and an impressive thump that makes him regret just a little that he's missing the action. Hastily he glances to check the rearview and sees a little billow of black smoke shrinking fast down the hyperlane behind them. Hanzo's picked their pursuers off to one last car. McCree spots the angle of the gun aimed at them from the passenger side and jerks the wheel left. A new hole joins the others puncturing their windshield in the next heartbeat and he hears Hanzo grunt, the annoyed tone to it. The next heartbeat, a blue flash reflects off the dash and a little snap of lightning crackles next to his ear. In the car behind them the driver's head snaps back, an arrow pinning it to the headrest. McCree turns his focus back to the road ahead. Another little spit of lightning and he hears the veer of a spinout, the crunch of metal colliding with the cement median, and then nothing but the rumble of their own engine and Hanzo's short panting filling the small space.

McCree glances up - just to be sure, just to push down the adrenaline spike of dread that he swerved too late - and catches the self-satisfied, bloodthirsty grin on Hanzo's face. Breath released from his chest in a laughing rush, he reaches for him, paws at the warm, bare jut of his collar, the curve of his shoulder. Hanzo slides down and down the length of his body with the pull of McCree's hand at his nape, the hard press of his knee moving to the outside of his thigh, the weight of his chest solid and warm against his side. His forehead comes to rest against McCree's temple, then lips drag over the stubble on his cheek, teeth find his earlobe and send a shiver across his scalp that has his eyes rolling closed for just another heartbeat. He digs his nails in softly to the back of Hanzo's neck, holds him, heavy and warm and breathing and still alive. They float in the moment - Hanzo flush against him, chest heaving, elbow slung over the back of the seat and lips resting against the knuckles of his hand draped over McCree's shoulder, watching the road behind them for any more pursuers, McCree’s fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head.

All the land around the hyperlane stretching out ahead of them is flat and open and vacant, and McCree's heart is thundering too hard in his chest for the sudden drop in action. He angles his head to rest against the side of Hanzo's, causing the other man to stir and inhale sharp. With a little twist, Hanzo rearranges his legs to sit half knelt beside him, reaches back to prop Storm Bow against the passenger seat. Hot breath washes down his neck, making McCree scratch lightly at Hanzo's scalp, shift when it's chased by lips on his skin. The sudden grasp of Hanzo's hand at his belt when he turns back against him makes McCree laugh, breathless, with a little jolt.

“Do we need to pull over?” he chuckles, running his fingers along the upper curve of Hanzo's trapezius. They'd dressed down this whole trip, playing up the tourist look, and at some point during the firefight Hanzo had wrestled off half of his button-down, leaving his chest-hugging tank exposed and the shirt hanging loose from his right shoulder. McCree tries to cop an eyeful with a grin, but the hand Hanzo has draped over his shoulder moves to grip him by the scruff of his neck and keep his attention on the road.

“Absolutely not,” Hanzo answers strict, a little nip at his ear making McCree suck in a sharp breath as practiced fingers make quick work of his buckle. “There may be others still in pursuit; keep driving.”

“Settin’ up a real compromising position for us here if there are, darlin’,” McCree says, slightly giddy with the adrenaline still thrumming through him, spiking the little thrill of arousal that accompanies Hanzo's fingers plucking at his fly. Hanzo nuzzles into his neck, lips curving playfully against the soft spot at the back of McCree's jaw before he murmurs, “Not if you out-drive them.”

McCree sucks a sharp breath in through his nose, lifts his chin, eyes still locked forward. The warm press of Hanzo's hand slipping into his jeans, palming over his briefs and squeezing, almost kneading at his still confined cock makes him grit his teeth just a little, and McCree feels the lips pressing kisses down his neck curl into the hint of a grin. The faint twinge at his nape where Hanzo's grip twists itself up into his hair sends a shiver down his spine. McCree stomps down hard, boot heel striking hollow in the well, mindful of the brake, as his thighs fall open wide and his hips jerk towards the brush of hot fingertips over the bare skin of his cock. His grip on the wheel tightens and Hanzo is definitely grinning as he scrapes teeth against McCree's collarbone, works him out so he's exposed to the barely enclosed air of the cab, band of his underwear tucked neatly under his balls.

“Han,” he sighs warily, just a hint of a shake on his breath. Hanzo leans up a little, pressing a sucking kiss to the thin skin just right of his Adam's apple, nails digging into his nape. The fingers curled loose around his cock stroke light and lazily, and McCree's breath sits heavy in his lungs with the effort to control himself.

“Eyes on the road, cowboy,” Hanzo warns, lips quirking against his throat. Then he moves away, releases his grip on McCree's neck, shifts, and McCree has a flash of a moment to draw breath, crystalized and suspended in anticipation, before it's punched out of him by the feel of wet heat engulfing his cock. His foot on the accelerator presses down just a little and his head tips back, moulded plastic of the steering wheel creaking in his metal grip with his effort to keep his eyes from rolling closed. That residual adrenaline blooms through his chest, sharpening his senses to the glimmer of the sunbaked hyperway before him, the desert scrub whipping past, the slick pull of the lips wrapped around him. Hanzo's tongue circles the ridge of his crown, making McCree groan a harsh, “God, _fuck!”_ and slap his open palm against the back of the seat. As Hanzo sinks another stroke around him he bites the knuckle of his intact hand, mechanical grip holding the wheel steady, peripherally aware of the slowly rising speedometer. The vacuum of the blown out back window licks air over his neck and through locks of his hair, sending a shiver down his spine, and Hanzo stops again halfway down his cock, tongue tracing a flat zigzag over his shaft. His palm is cupped warm over his balls, the ring of his first two fingers and thumb holding McCree steady as he pulls back off, slow and tight enough to drag his foreskin back up over the tip of his cock.

Hanzo sucks the loose skin between his lips until it's stretched to just the right tension, just shy of painful and drawing the thinnest whine from McCree's throat. He's drifting, slightly, and McCree forces all of his focus into staying in their lane, knuckles pressed to his teeth. A sharp gasp and an open-mouthed grunt work his lungs as Hanzo's tongue slips into the snug pocket of space between his foreskin and his dick, playfully sliding back and forth while his mouth closes back around the head of McCree's cock. Suckling at him, drawing his tongue back to wriggle the tip insistently into the little dip of his slit, flicker over the soft folds of his frenulum, Hanzo bobs just enough to stroke his head in the sheath of his own foreskin, skin against skin made slick with saliva and precum. For one moment of weakness, McCree lets his eyes fall on Hanzo bent over his lap, hair pushed back from his face, and is transfixed by the way the corner of Hanzo's mouth stretches with a popping little hitch every time his crown breaches his lips.

A sly smile curls around his dick and Hanzo's visible eye opens, catches McCree watching. With an amused hum that McCree feels from his shaft to his balls to his toes, Hanzo pulls off of him, breathing heavy. The fingers at the base of his cock cinch a little tighter and Hanzo clicks his tongue in put on disapproval, shifts off his elbow braced on the seat to silently put two fingers under McCree's chin and tilt his face back up to the road. A jolt makes McCree's knees jump and he jerks the truck back into their lane a little harshly. Against his bare skin he feels the smug quirk of Hanzo's lips. They wait, until McCree has evened out his driving, before pressing warm and plush to the root of his cock. Hanzo adjusts slightly and they suck a kiss to the loose skin of his scrotum between his base and the heavy weight of his balls. McCree groans, uneven with the pedal, and bucks his hips petulantly when those lips tease over his dick, mouthing wet to leave behind skin that cools in the air rushing through the cab. Hanzo's fingers cinch tighter, keeping him strangled hard, and he breathes, pants against his skin, leaving him hot then cold. McCree fidgets, heaves a frustrated whine, knee thumping hard against the driving well and natural fist hanging off the back of the seat, clenched to keep from grabbing Hanzo by the hair and pulling him back to where he was. His eyes, though, they stay locked on the road, and after a moment he manages to pull his lower lip from between his teeth.

“I hear ya,” McCree breathes, slumped, mechanical elbow digging into the armrest on the door. “I can focus up. I'll be good.”

Near instantly, his cock is wrapped in searing mouth, the noise that Hanzo rattles through his entire system hungry and gloating. They lurch dangerously faster as he kicks at the accelerator, fingers digging into the back of the seat. He swallows a groan, jerks his chin, sits up a little straighter and Hanzo follows with bobbing strokes. Each time he welcomes McCree into the cradle of his soft palate and flexing tongue, it takes every ounce of McCree's willpower not to go cross-eyed. Each time he stays a little longer, goes a little deeper, Hanzo working his way up, easing further down and around the length and girth of his cock.

In the afternoon sunhaze, the twisted, monolithic skeleton of the American border begins resolving itself along the skyline and McCree is gunning towards it well beyond any speed limit as he slides all the way down Hanzo's throat. His hips jerk towards the slick tightness, concentration funneled towards not spinning out, dangerously close to being overridden by the shudder of adrenaline-laced lust that runs under his skin, the little squeeze Hanzo gives his balls, the delicious clench of him gagging. He pulls off fast, gulping two hard breaths of air and diving back in on the third. McCree lets his hand fall to his back as Hanzo sinks back down on him with an arm pinned firmly across his pelvis and a warning grip on his balls. He rubs circles between Hanzo's shoulder blades, shying from his neck and hair, as Hanzo swallows around the head of his cock. His nose buries in McCree's pubic hair, nuzzling, making his throat flex around him, inhaling and groaning low and deep enough to send the sound rolling through McCree right up past his own lips. In the back of his mind he knows they're not going to make the border.

As if sensing the stray thought, Hanzo tugs gently on his balls, pulling him back from an edge he was barely aware he was at and making him keen in the back of his throat to return. He clenches, nails digging into Hanzo's sweat-tacky skin, hearing a harsh crack and feeling the steering wheel splinter in his metal hand.

“Fuck,” he groans, laughing at himself, foot dropping off the gas. They coast, McCree scarcely trusting himself with the brake as Hanzo's muscles bunch and flex under his palm with the bob of his head. He is so tight, so wet, tongue stroking flat against his skin with every pull, that McCree's self-deprecating chuckle eases back into a groan, rolls up taut into a whine. Hanzo swallows him long and deep, lips soft. There's a crackle of gravel under the tires as McCree drifts onto the shoulder, his foot carefully finding the brake, coaxing the pickup though an uneasy, stuttering stop. Hanzo compensates, stays steady through the jerky motion, mouth stroking a slow, focused pull. His fingers slip under the band of McCree's briefs, cupping his balls and pressing against the hot skin behind them, as McCree puts them in park, lets go of the steering wheel before he can do any more damage. The pressure makes him jolt, peak, hips bucking against the heavy restraint of Hanzo's arm. He gasps hard and ragged, eyes finally returning to the sight of Hanzo sucking halfway off of him, lips wrapped tight around his cock.

His shuddering groan is the only sound around them for miles as his cum paints the roof of Hanzo's mouth, as his eyes screw shut and Hanzo massages the orgasm out of him, knuckle digging firm into his taint. As he jerks uselessly against the steady weight of Hanzo's arm, fingers twisted up in his tank top, McCree lets his head fall back, slumps in his seat. Hanzo's lips slide over his flushed skin, coaxing the last threads of his orgasm from him until a faint whimper of overstimulation works its way out of his throat.

McCree opens his watering eyes to the roof of the pickup cab, chest heaving with ragged breath. Movement in his periphery catches his attention and he turns his head to the sight of Hanzo sitting up beside him. His cheeks and lips are flushed from effort, eyes bright and sharp. McCree reels him in with the hand he has still pressed between his shoulder blades, pulls him into a hungry kiss, devouring the taste of his own cum on his tongue. Hanzo groans into his mouth, breaks to gasp, and McCree bumps their foreheads together, smiling lopsided at him, eyes falling to Hanzo's swollen lips and biting his own. He twists, crowding his presence up against Hanzo's, and Hanzo moves back, eyes locked with his and wicked grin turning his lips. A huff of air brushes McCree's skin as Hanzo leans back in the seat, legs wide. McCree works his right hand between the two of them, tugging open the buttons of Hanzo's cargo shorts, groping the cotton stretched tight over his thick erection. Slack-jawed and cotton-headed, he watches Hanzo tip his head back on the seat, throat bared, and slides Hanzo's jockstrap aside, pulling his dick free with a firm stroke.

The heavy sigh that Hanzo lets out fills the cab. McCree curls towards him as well as the awkward angle allows, mechanical hand reaching for Hanzo's exposed throat, pulling him closer to bury his face in the curve of his neck. Hanzo shifts to accommodate him, slides his arm up around his shoulders, and McCree inhales the scent of his skin, his sweat, keeps his right fist a tight ring for him to fuck up into. Hanzo's whole body flexes against his chest, hips rutting in short little thrusts, fingers digging into his left shoulder. McCree gives his cock an extra squeeze when he bucks once, harder, and presses his lips to the rumbling groan that rolls up his throat, sucks salt from his skin as Hanzo spills over his knuckles. He scrapes teeth against Hanzo's throat and gets himself an amused, pleased little growl in return. Fingers curl in his hair and McCree strokes slow, slicking Hanzo's skin with his cum, until the last slowing thrusts of Hanzo's hips still.

They sit, baking in the still heat of the pickup cab, for a quiet, sated moment. Hanzo lifts his head just enough to move it to rest on McCree's shoulder, nuzzling at the curve of his neck. McCree idly slides his sticky fingers under Hanzo's jock and gives his sack a light squeeze, earning a small grunt and the feeling of lips curling into a smile against his skin.

“Did you break the steering wheel?” Hanzo asks, no small amount of humor laying just under his deadpan, knocking a snort and a laugh from McCree.

“Fuck off,” he says, chuckling, pulling his hand out of Hanzo's pants and shifting. Hanzo lifts his hand to scritch at McCree's scalp briefly before they peel apart, the musk of sweat and semen hanging heavy between them. McCree tucks himself back into his pants, zero interest in getting a sunburn on his dick, while Hanzo sort of flaps his right arm out of the tangle his shirt has become. Once free, he strips out of his cum-soiled tank with a quick upper body roll that snaps McCree's attention to him, makes him chew at his lower lip and watch greedily as he wipes the last traces of his orgasm from the hard, flat plane of his lower belly. Teasing, McCree reaches out to run a still tacky knuckle over a newly cleaned spot, gets his hand caught at the wrist in a firm grip. Breath heavy and shallow in his lungs, he follows the slow arc it makes as Hanzo pulls it away from his body, up to where he can wrap sex swollen lips around McCree's first finger.

Slowly, deliberately, Hanzo sucks the length of McCree's index finger, their eyes locked, before moving to his next knuckle, placing suckling kisses to each one as he licks McCree's skin clean of his cum. The moment he releases his hold, McCree crowds into him, chasing the lingering taste of both of them on Hanzo's lips, pressing him hard into the seat. A pleased grin quirks against his kiss and he breaks away, noses at Hanzo's jaw, mouths sloppily down his neck as he scoops greedy handfuls of his pecs into both hands, metal and natural. McCree drops his head and buries his face in the valley of Hanzo's chest, breathes his scent in deep and exhales through his open mouth, dragging his tongue flat up the middle. He bites at the tail of the dragon curling over Hanzo's skin, light enough to leave only the fading impression of his teeth as he moves to suck one nipple into his mouth, tip of his tongue eagerly lapping it into a peak while his metal thumb rubs steady circles over the other. A deep groan spills down on him and Hanzo twists, arches towards him before sucking a breath through his teeth and swatting at McCree's shoulder with his wadded up tank top. When McCree pushes it, doubles down and suckles hard enough to make him jerk and dig a knee into his thigh, Hanzo grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls him off with enough force to send a shiver down McCree's spine.

“Save it for the safehouse, cowboy,” he says with a breathless growl that's almost enough to make McCree push him all the way down on the bench seat and crawl all over him. Hanzo's hand in his hair keeps him at bay, pulls him as he sits both of them back up, and McCree keeps himself distracted from the temptation of his bare chest by watching his face with an open-mouthed pant and a half-cocked leer.

“Says the guy who needed to get my dick down his throat while we were pushing 180,” he teases as he leans back, still turned towards Hanzo, and slings an arm over the back of the seat. His left hand trails down his hard cut stomach, fingers slipping under elastic and running playfully back and forth along the waistband of Hanzo's jockstrap, just shy of where his cock is hanging out, soft and still exposed. Hanzo smiles, showing his teeth in an almost feral look that always makes the hair stand up on McCree's neck and heat pool in his belly. He readjusts around the teasing touch, gets his dick tucked away snug and secure before closing his hand around McCree's wrist and pulling him away, guiding him to lay his open palm on the bottom of the steering wheel. In one fluid motion, he curls his body up against McCree's, thigh to thigh, chest pressed up under the wide sweep of his arm so that McCree feels the give of his muscles against his side. The hand in his hair slides down to cup the back of his neck so Hanzo can pull himself up to McCree's ear.

“I cannot sit on your face while you drive,” he says with an obvious grin in his deep pitched voice, breath washing hot over McCree's skin. “So get us to that safehouse before we're both caught in this miserable place with our pants down.”

The little squeeze he gives to the front of his jeans is timed just right with the hungry thrill his words send right to his cock, making McCree suck a harsh breath through his nose and pound his fist once against the back of the seat. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes and breathes deep, feels Hanzo chuckling against his throat.

“Darlin’ you can't just _say_ shit like that!” he tells the roof of the cab, biting his lip before he looks down into the sight of Hanzo pulling away, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Hanzo sweeps his hand down McCree's jaw to take hold of his chin, presses a soft, chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back with a shiteating grin and prompting McCree's attention to the wheel with a gesture. McCree watches him a moment longer than necessary, half out of contrarian instinct and half to enjoy the sight of him shuffling back to his side of the seat, the arch of his body as he lifts his hips to pull his shorts back on comfortably. Then he turns his attention back to front, checking the damage he's done to the steering wheel, twisting and snapping off the chunk of it that's too far gone to salvage. Beside him, he hears Hanzo snort.

“You should take it as a compliment,” McCree mutters out the side of his mouth, prompting Hanzo to chuckle deeper.

“Oh, I do,” he answers smug, and McCree throws him a sidelong glance in exasperation, only to get caught up on the sight of him, preening and reclined against the seat and the opposite door. For an indulgent moment McCree lets his gaze run slow over Hanzo, button down tee hanging open over his bare chest, legs thrown wide, Storm Bow resting against his shoulder and arm draped over the back of the seat.

He reaches a bit to close the short distance between their hands, fingers hooking loosely over Hanzo's, and watches the pleased smile on his face go a little softer before looking away. With a similar smile tugging at the corners of his lips, McCree guns the engine and peels back out onto the hyperlane, the ruins of the American border before him.


End file.
